There's a Gun In Your Hand (And It's Pointed At Your Head)
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: Suicidal!Sammy and Protective!Dean. Sam can't take it anymore. Can Dean? Written for the prompt, "I crawled out of hell once. Don't make me do it again." PLEASE REVIEW


A/N Just a sad story written for a friend's prompt. Not actually about guns, but you get the suicide idea. Rated M for suicicde, if you didn't catch that.

Sam sat alone in a dark motel room, arms bare in front of him. The light glinted off his wrists, pale skin unmarked. After years of hunting, scars covered almost his whole body, but oddly enough, his wrists were left bare.

More the reason to go ahead with his plan.  
The motel room he had chosen was dark and smelly, but he didn't really notice it. He sort of understood what people meant now, about how everything sort of faded in your last few minutes.  
He held a curved silver knife in one hand, glinting softly in the moonlight from the small window. Silver, because he had nothing else with him. Ironic that with the same knife he'd killed hundreds of monsters with, he would end his own life too.  
Well, he was a monster. And it wasn't like it was a secret anyway. Dean knew.  
He wondered about Dean. Would he look for Sam?  
Would he cry?  
Would he beg the coroner to check one more time, please, because that wasn't his brother. It couldn't be. Sammy wouldn't do that.  
Sammy wouldn't kill himself.  
Sam smiled grimly, eyes on the floor. Sammy wouldn't do that. But Sam would. And he hadn't been Sammy in years. He and Dean both knew that.  
Sammy wouldn't have almost caved to the demon blood that sang to him, all he could see as Roy and his hunter buddy waves it in his face. It took the might of the world just to take that step back. To say no for once. To prove to Dean that he could do this.  
Too bad Dean couldn't see him now  
The knife was resting against the inside of his wrist. It was decision time.  
He finally understood now. How people could get tired. He was tired. He hadn't understood how people could get tired of life, something so full of everything. Who would waste everything?  
Now he understood that everything was what he was averting away from.  
He closed his eyes and drew a breath into lungs that seemed to get smaller by the minute.  
He folded his hands one last time, praying to someone. Something. Not the angels. They hadn't done anything. Sure, they'd gotten Dean out of hell. He was great up for that. But to find out that even ANGELS considered him an abomination.  
Well, that was a pretty big hint for what he should be doing with that knife.  
He knew what he needed to do. Could feel it just like he could feel he sing song thrum of the demon blood under his skin. Him, the monster.  
How true Gordon's words were now.  
He had been so stupid.  
Leaning back on the bed, he drew the blade slowly across his left wrist, eyes wide open.  
The pain felt raw. He knew some people got off on it. But this was an end for him.  
The blood welled around the cut, looking so normal. He wanted normal.  
Well, he had.  
No point in wasting time. He made another cut on his other wrist, hand shaking as he drew he blade across his arm.  
He let his wrists hang when he was done, face turned to the motels grimy cielong.  
Maybe it was he blood loss, but he could almost see clouds. He wouldn't be with Jessica. She was too good for him. No, he knew where he would go.  
Closing his eyes, he didn't so the whole, cliched, "goodbye, world" thing. No, he closed his eyes and let it come. Be sued that's all he could ever do.

He opened his eyes to the steady thrum of something, something familiar. Looking up, he saw something blurry, with green, green eyes.  
"Dean?" He asked weakly.  
"Sammy!" His far away brother seemed to scream.  
Above him, the sky was white. He focused a little more. Wait, was that an IV?  
He was in a hospital. Oh god.  
It didn't work.  
He turned slowly back to Dean, who was still screaming. "D'n" he said again.  
"Dammit, Sam, why did you do this?" He yelled.  
Sam cowered. Even now, his brother was still terrifying. The thought came to him that he had tried to give this up. Even screaming at him, his brother was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.  
Tears started, pouring down his face. "Dean."  
"What, Sam? What were you thinking?" Sam trembled but spoke. "I had to."  
"What, cause it was bad? You hit a rough patch and gave up? You don't do this!" He said, gesturing to sam's wrisa, heavily bandaged.  
Dean calmed himself down. "Sammy." He said, reaching out. Sam flinched.  
A silence filled the room. More tears fell.  
Deans face had become pained. "I already crawled out of hell, Sammy. Don't make me do it again. Please."  
Sammy. He knew that name.  
He looked up. "Dean?"  
"Yeah, Sam?"  
"I won't. I'm sorry."  
Dean smiled a little.  
"I know you are."  
Sam wasn't forgiven. He hadn't escaped his life yet.  
But he wasn't gonna put Dean through hell either.  
Dean was the last person he was gonna hurt.


End file.
